


Once Upon a December

by katekane



Series: Once Upon a Winter [1]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Decorating, F/F, Fireside Confessions, First snowfall, Gifts, Huddling For Warmth, Meeting the Parents, Mistletoe, Party, Silly Holday Jumpers, Snowed In, Yule, frozen, holiday singing, ww2018winterfluffevent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katekane/pseuds/katekane
Summary: The first time Mildred Hubble saw Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa Pentangle together, she also saw a potential that she cannot allow them to waste. Fortunately, Mildred proves much better at brewing matchmaking plans than she is at brewing potions.A Hicsqueak fic inspired by a variety of cassiopeiasara's Worst Witch Winter Fluff prompts. I changed the title from a Tori Amos quote to something less high brow, because this romantic piece honestly remains low brow :)





	1. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildred had a plan, and those with enough imagination might guess how it was supposed to go before it didn't.

Pippa did not see the face of the person outside Hecate’s chamber, the one brave enough to interrupt their weekly game of chess. But she does not have to. She can tell from the ominous timber of Hecate’s alto voice seeping through the door at an increasing volume. Only one person at Cackle’s has this effect on her normally stoic childhood friend. She decides to go out there herself. The tea is getting cold anyway, and her being there might calm the agitated parties.

She peeks around the frame of the door, slightly ajar, and sure enough: there is Hecate towering – yes, _towering_ , it is the only befitting verb – over a particularly distraught looking Mildred.

”I don’t know how many berries he ate, I swear I only looked away for a minute, it couldn’t have been too many, but I know they are poisonous, particularly to cats…”

Pippa frowns. Even for Mildred, that is quite a ramble. And the girl’s many words seem to vex Hecate further.

”How did Tabby get his paws on this restricted ingredient in the first place? Pray _tell_ ,” the dark witch says. No, _demands_ , more like it. The Ls rolls from Hecate’s lips in a way that might make Pippa wonder at Hecate’s obviously skilled tongue, if she weren’t currently focused on how to diffuse the escalating scene before her.

She steps out into the open. Not _between_ Hecate and Mildred exactly, that would be too demonstrative, but she does soften their militant-like front by turning it into a circle of sorts.

This seems to have the intended effect on Hecate. She straightens a little so she is no longer leaning over her poor second year student. Oddly enough, the effect on Mildred is the opposite. Mildred's eyes flicker to Pippa, widen ever so slightly, before they travel back to Hecate, and finally find purchase on something on the floor.

Pippa frowns again. She is not used to affecting anyone this way, to making anyone uncomfortable. Well, perhaps with the exception of-

”Did Tabby eat your _tongue_ as well?”

Hecate's rhetorical question interrupts Pippa's line of thought and nearly makes her smile. Hecate is so _formidable_ , even when she is being ridiculously dramatic.

”I was just trying to… in the spirit of the season… and- and… but it didn’t turn out quite the way I planned,” Mildred finishes miserably without really finishing anything. At least not anything amounting to a coherent sentence.

Pippa takes a step closer to Hecate, hoping her friend will let it slide so they can get back to being just the two of them and their chessboard and, hopefully, a fresher pot of tea. Wheather Hecate feels the same or not is impossible to know, but she actually does let Mildred off the hook.

”May I suggest you abstain from planning in the future, _Mildred Hubble_ ,” she suggests – again these rolling Ls that eccho like waves against the stone walls, Pippa thinks. ”Give Tabby this vial, clean up afterwars, and make sure he hydrates.”

Mildred mumbles something that could be ”thank you” and rushes off.

”What was that all about?” Pippa wonders as she opens the door fully for the both of them so they can get back to their game.

”Mistletoe.” Hecate nods towards the ceiling. From several lamps are pieces of strings with no mistletoe attached, courtesy of Tabby. Actually, one piece of string hangs almost _directly_ in front of the door they are about to close behind them.

Pippa frowns for the third time in very few minutes.

”Of course, as we are dealing with Mildred Hubble she refused to tell me what she needed the mistletoe _for_.”

Pippa laughs lightly at her friend's exasperation. ”Oh come on, Hiccup, the girl is nearing 13. Use your imagination!” Pippa wiggles her brows suggestively.

”You forget that unlike your modern school, Cackle’s is not co-ed,” Hecate says simply, as if that settles everything.

Aaand wiggling brows stay up. ”Use a little more imagination than _that._ ”

Pippa does not say it loudly enough for Hecate to hear, and before she can think too long about whether she should or shouldn’t have, there’s fresh tea, a game of chess, and a formidable friend pouring over it. It has to be more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted as a oneshot, but now it has been transformed into a beginning.


	2. Baking, Gifts, and Holiday Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, Pippa should never have assumed the HH on the back of the parcel were short for Hecate Hardbroom. But wishful thinking leads to an interesting exchange.

In hindsight, Pippa should never have assumed the HH on the back of the parcel were short for Hecate Hardbroom. HH might mean anything… Her Highness. Head of Hospital. Haunted Housewife. Or, given the season and the contents of the parcel, perhaps simply Happy Holidays.

But wishful thinking goes a long way, so Pippa manages to somehow overlook the fact that her own fondness for glazed donuts and overly sweetened tea has always made Hecate wince. She manages to suppress what she already knows; that the potion teacher and second in command at Cackle’s Academy prefers toad’s spit, bee’s brain, and raven’s feathers to sugar, cinnamon, and ginger. And perhaps most impressing, Pippa manages to ignore the glaringly obvious: Even if, for some inexplicable reason, Hecate had suddenly turned to baking, she would never ever turn to baking heart-shaped ginger biscuits decorated with sparkly pink pentangles.

And so Pippa bakes her own batch of biscuits tailored to her friend’s not so sweet tooth: liquorice-black bats with dark red lips the colour of certain other dark red lips elegantly hand-painted on them. She sends the treats by owl instead of merely transferring them, and so it takes a little while before Pippa’s maglet lights up with a gracious, yet utterly confused thank you message from Hecate.

In hindsight, Pippa really should have known better. She touches her forehead not in greeting, but in acknowledgement of her own stupidity. She should have known Hecate would never be into exchanging home-baked goods.

Just as Pippa is about to spiral into self-deprecation, her maglet lights up again. It’s another message from Hecate. It simply reads: _delightful_. Short and succinct, but also superfluous given the fact that Hecate has already thanked Pippa. And Hecate never does superfluous. Except, apparently she does when properly prompted. It feels like a milestone of sorts.

Pippa is intrigued and wonders what else might make Hecate break old habits. And so when, a day later, she finds two stockings in her mail – a sparkly pink and a lacy black one – she decides to play along even though this time she is well aware that Hecate had no part in sending them to her. Her own modern chambers have no fireplace, so she nails the pink stocking to the wall just above her favourite Danish wooden armchair. Then she transfers the black stocking to the mantelpiece in Hecate’s sitting room. Then she waits.

A quarter of an hour after Hecate’s last lesson ends – the fact that Pippa knows Hecate’s schedule by heart is a fact she decides not to dwell upon – Pippa’s maglet lights up: _A bit too frilly for my taste, but I suppose the colour is acceptable._

Pippa laughs out loud. A select few get treated to Hecate’s rather dry, yet absolutely splendid sense of humour, but certainly never through maglet messages. Her friend has always considered that sort of communication too modern. Another habit has just been broken.

And surprisingly, Hecate, too, plays along from then on. Over the next week or so they fill each other’s stockings with little gifts. Superfluous gifts, which makes them all the more meaningful to Pippa. Up until now, the tentative rekindling of their friendship has been based on practical excuses and rules. When they communicate through mirrors or maglets, it’s always initially because Pentangle’s Academy is short a specific potion ingredient, or because Cackle’s Academy needs input on a vulnerable student. When they visit each other on a regular basis now, it’s exactly that – regular and dictated by chess rules. It is predictable, familiar, and safe.

Their current gift exchange is a stark contrast to all other interactions they’ve had since the Spelling Bee. There are no rules, no need, and no predictability apart from the fact that they both come to expect gifts from the other. They don’t talk about the gifts, but they are a form of communication in and of themselves. They don’t receive one every morning; they take turns, and there is a building crescendo in the on-going exchange.

At first the gifts are edibles. Relatively safe, since they are meant for consumption, not for keeping.

Surprisingly, Hecate is the one who eventually raises the stakes by gifting Pippa a season’s greetings card. She has infused it with her own magic so a tiny Yuletide tree, smelling like actual pine, grows from the paper.

Pippa decides to take the game one step further by gifting Hecate an enchanted singing telegram with “December Will Be Magic Again.” It’s supposed to sound like a carolling duet between Kate Bush and herself, and it’s daring because Pippa has not sung outside of her own shower since Amulet’s Academy. Back then Hecate regularly had nightmares that were immune to any potion. But Pippa’s voice helped.

When she receives no gift in her pink stocking the next morning, Pippa fears she has overstepped. Perhaps she has assumed familiarity too quickly after their thirty years of radio silence. Perhaps she has inadvertently brought back bad memories to Hecate. Perhaps – and this horrible thought has Pippa circling her stocking and her maglet and her mail for a whole day – perhaps she has made Hecate remember the reason she left Pippa all those years ago. A reason still unknown to Pippa, so how can she know if it still stands?

Fortunately, this time the radio silence only lasts little more than thirty-six hours. It is broken not by cakes, gifts or magical holiday singing, but by the shrill sound of Pippa’s mirror calling for her. And it is not broken by Hecate, but by Mildred Hubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the not so fluffy cliffhanger. Release/relief will come very soon!


	3. First Snowfall and Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildred is asking for Pippa's help on behalf of someone to formidable to ask.

“It started snowing,” is the first thing Mildred’s mirror image manages to stutter. Her teeth are chattering so hard Pippa can barely make out the words. Her lips are bluish, and the fingers desperately rubbing at her own arms are white.

“Goodness, Mildred, go on inside!” Pippa is so taken aback by the frightful state of the girl that she doesn’t consider the oddness of being called up privately by a student who is not even her own.

“I _am_ ,” Mildred forces out. She tilts her mirror so Pippa can make out her immediate surroundings: a pool of thick blankets right in front of a roaring fireplace.

An eerie feeling begins to settle in Pippa’s stomach. “Has something happened at Cackle’s?”

“No. I mean, yes. But not right now.”

It is such a vague answer, and Pippa’s concern is growing. For once she can relate to Hecate’s feeling of exasperation around Mildred. She has to make an effort to not sound impatient when she asks for clarification: “What do you mean, Mildred?”

“The cold when… When the founding stone… “ Mildred is clearly fighting to get the words out. “When our magic stopped working and some of us froze,” she finally finishes.

At that, Pippa’s stomach is no longer sinking. It is threatening to turn itself inside out. She has to swallow bile as images of Mildred and other terribly young witches encapsulated in ice pass before her. They are quickly followed by even worse images of Hecate frozen solid, dark red lips turned purple and lifeless. Of her formidable friends turned utterly powerless.

“Is Agatha back?” It is as if someone else is speaking. Pippa’s voice is so hoarse she doesn’t recognize it. She wants to throw up. She wants to transfer even though Cackle’s is too far away for it. She is not sure which to do first.

At first she thinks Mildred is convulsing from the cold. Then she realises Mildred is shaking her head. Pippa doesn’t understand anything of what is happening, but she is flooded with relief just the same. Whatever they have to fight, it won’t be a madwoman.

“The first snow. It’s triggered some sort of aftereffect,” Mildred manages to explain. “Not dangerous according to Miss Cackle… Just… our bodies remembering.”

It all begins to make sense, and Pippa’s exasperation with Mildred is quickly replaced by motherly, or rather teacherly, concern. “Do you need my help, Mildred?” she asks.

Again, Mildred shakes her head. “I get help. Enid, Maud, the teachers. They all take care of me.” She looks straight into Pippa’s eyes, holds her gaze steadily in spite of the way her body is trembling. “It’s not me who needs help,” she says almost without stuttering as if there is a particular weight to that one sentence.

Pippa picks up on it immediately. “ _Hecate_.”

Mildred nods. “I think… She won’t ask, but I think… I think she needs your help.”

 _Of course._ Hecate’s magic is stronger than any of the students’ and froze harder. The first snow must affect her harder as well. This explains Hecate’s silence. And Mildred is right. Formidable, stupidly stubborn Hecate Hardbroom will suffer alone rather than ask for anyone’s help.

“Thank you,” Pippa says with as much earnestness as she can muster. Her fingertips are already tickling with restless magic. She needs to end this call. She needs to get to Hecate.  

Fortunately, Mildred sends her an encouraging, if slightly bluish, smile, and in less than two minutes Pippa has ended the call, summoned her coat and broomstick, and taken to the skies.

As she navigates the increasingly white landscapes Pippa ponders Mildred’s involvement in her relationship with Hecate. She is not surprised that Mildred pays attention to her potion teacher’s wellbeing. The girl is obviously caring and sensitive towards everyone around her to a point that lets her see past the intimidating front Hecate puts up. She picked up on the conflict between Hecate and Pippa the very first time she saw them together. Well, most people present at the Spelling Bee probably picked up on that. But Mildred; she picked up on the friendship that was still there, somehow intact or at least salvageable, beneath hurtful words and more hurtful silences. She saw it and pushed them towards it; an act just as recklessly inappropriate as the private call she just placed to Pippa. Mildred is, after all, a student and barely a teenager. Hecate and Pippa are her teachers and nearly middle-aged. Yet there is a strange role-reversal in play, and it should probably worry Pippa, but she finds she is simply grateful for it.

She is grateful for a child’s meddling on this night. Grateful that Hecate, capable of just about anything other than asking for help, did not have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always figured someone containing as much magic as Hecate would suffer residual effects from the freeze.


	4. Huddling for Warmth and Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate is experiencing some aftereffects from the big freeze, and Pippa comes to her rescue.

Pippa balances briefly on the windowsill and shakes as many snowflakes from her hair and clothes as possible before transferring through the stained glass of Hecate’s window. Then she transfers her coat and broomstick to a cupboard in Hecate’s office. She prefers tidying up by hand, but magic is quieter. A quick drying spell, and that’s that: In spite of a two-hour flight under terrible weather conditions Pippa is now able to share her warmth.

And she will need to. That much is easily apparent when she tiptoes into the room that serves as Hecate’s bedroom. She has never been in here before, but any worries she might have about crossing boundaries vanish as soon as she spots her oldest friend. Or rather, the cocoon of blankets that supposedly holds her friend.

“Hiccup,” she says as she gently peels away a woollen corner where she thinks she might find Hecate’s face. Instead she finds a shoulder, and it will have to do. She attempts to give it a gentle squeeze, but it proves difficult to get any kind of grip, as her friend is shaking harder than Mildred ever did.

“Pip… pipsqueak?” comes the strained voice from beneath another part of another blanket. “How… Why are you here?”

“I heard about the aftereffects from the freeze triggered by the snow. I figured you might need some-“ Pippa manages to bite her tongue before the treacherous word ‘help’ falls from her lips. “-might like some company,” she corrects.

The bundle of blankets scoffs, and Pippa cannot help smiling at the so Hecate-like reaction. Hecate might be re-experiencing a trauma, but it is clearly not as bad as Pippa feared if her sarcasm is fully functioning. “Say that again, Hiccup?” she teases.

“I’m _fine_.” Hecate’s voice is a rumble, its hoarseness probably aided by the layers of wool. It would be intimidating, were it not for the way Hecate is clearly hugging herself underneath the blankets.

Pippa is neither buying it nor budging. “Very well, but _I_ won’t be fine if I go back out into that weather, so you’ll have to put up with my presence for a while.”

No response from Hecate.

“And I might as well make myself useful in the meantime.”

The blanket pile is not moving, except for the constant trembling.

“I thought perhaps I could make some chicken-soup?”

Aaand that does it. The cocoon breaks apart like egg shells and a bluish-pale, yet very animated face pops up: “No, no, no, no, you don’t have to do that!”

Pippa smiles sweetly and holds Hecate’s pleading eyes without so much as blinking. It is a stalemate of sorts. She knows they are currently remembering the same episode from decades ago. Not unlike now, Hecate had been buried in blankets. She had also been sneezing terribly, and according to Pippa’s mother and her mother’s mother chicken-soup was the best cure. But how was 12-year old Pippa, who had never cooked anything in her life, supposed to know the vital importance of using the word _rooster_ instead of its synonym when summoning the meat? It had been quite a, for lack of a better word, cockup.  

She can see the corners of Hecate’s mouth vibrate ever so slightly, and not just from the cold. The stalemate is turning into a small victory as Hecate gives in: “Perhaps some mulled wine.”

Pippa’s smile turns into a full grin as she follows through on Hecate’s request. She even follows an actual recipe, except she adds an extra dash of rum to the brew. It certainly cannot harm. She summons a heatproof straw for Hecate and holds the mug for her. Her friend is still shaking too hard to safely carry anything containing hot liquids or liquids period.

The mulled wine settles comfortably in Pippa’s stomach, low and heavy, but Hecate is as blue as when Pippa first arrived. It worries Pippa. She came to help and does not know how to, she only knows Hecate will hate it if she asks. A drop of wine has dripped from the straw and is hanging precariously from Hecate’s chin. Pippa reaches out her thumb to wipe it away.

And that is when it happens.

There is a small point of contact where Pippa’s finger, and in effect the magic of Pippa’s finger, touches Hecate. From that point ripples of pink spread out across the lower half of Hecate’s face. Not Pippa’s particular pink, simply the pink of skin regaining its normal, healthy colour. Hecate’s teeth stop chattering, and her lips are back to their dark red hue. The effect only lasts a minute, but Pippa has seen enough. Now she knows how to help, even if it will take some cunning.

She stretches her neck, and for once appreciates the dash of arthritis that has recently come into her life. It makes for some convincing popping sounds.

Hecate looks genuinely alarmed, and Pippa shrugs her shoulders apologetically, achieving and extra ‘pop’ in the process. “I think I’ve gotten too old for night time flights, and certainly too old for that severe sofa in your sitting room. You’re going to have to share with me, I’m afraid.”

“Okay.” Hecate seems too shocked to protest, and Pippa rolls her eyes at her. Thirty years have passed; it shouldn’t come as a surprise to either of them that their bodies have changed with time. As long as Pippa gets her way, she is not complaining.

“Scoot over!” she says impatiently, but with no real irritation in her voice, and again all Hecate says is “okay”, and so Pippa does get her way. Under the pretence of stretching her weary bones she lies down alongside Hecate. Then she makes Hecate share the blankets and in effects end up with just their respective clothes between them. She magics her own attire into her preferred knee-length nightgown and her bare calves meet the surprisingly soft cotton of Hecate’s pyjamas. She hopes the warming effect will work through clothes, because it is unlikely she will get any closer to Hecate than this. She tries not to dwell on that thought before it leads to other, less appropriate ones. Even like this, with the both of them basically fully dressed, she can feel her friend tense up.

She does not want to trick Hecate into intimacy she is not, might not ever be, ready for. She merely wants her friend to be comfortable. Which presently calls for some distraction, and there is precious little to be distracted by in Hecate’s bedroom. Everything in here serves a practical purpose. The room is sparsely furnished, its walls and ceiling are dark – fortunately more of a midnight blue than actual black – and the curtains are drawn. The only thing remotely resembling decoration is a bookcase covering one of the walls, its contents of course neatly arranged according to topic and author. It is more mathematical than magical, Pippa thinks to herself, and that is how a silly idea takes shape. She waves her fingers.

“What was that?” Hecate senses the change in magic before sensing the actual change in the room.  

“Yuletide is rather incompatible with the Dewey Decimal System, don’t you agree?” Pippa can hear the smugness in her own voice. She does not care. She is studying her nails trying to keep from laughing when she hears the gasp that means Hecate finally noticed: All books have been switched around according to their colours so they now create one continuous rainbow across Hecate’s wall.

“And pray tell, what do you call this … _system_ ,” Hecate grumbles from right next to her on the bed.

Pippa rolls onto her side so she faces her friend. She waves her free arm at the bookcase, at the whole room, really. “The Pentangle Polychrome System!” She laughs as much at her own made-up expression as the expression of horror on Hecate’s face. It melts rather quickly, certainly quicker than Hecate would normally allow, into something easily mistaken for … fondness? Pippa blinks at that and her laughter dies down. They are actually quite close on the bed. But Hecate is still trembling.

Right, back to important things. Back to the reason she came here in the first place. “I’m going to warm you up while you consider the merits of aesthetics,” Pippa says in a no-nonsense voice.

“Aesthetics?” Hecate snorts, “I think you might be overestimating you talents, darling.”

The unexpected term of endearment nearly does Pippa in. She could so easily forget why she is in Hecate’s bed touching her cheeks, shoulders and upper arms. She could so easily forget that she was not invited here out of desire or want, was not in fact invited at all. She could so easily mistake her practical ministrations for affectionate caresses. Really, she knows there is no distinction in her own heart where Hecate is concerned.

But Hecate cannot know this. They are just finding their way back together, whatever _together_ might come to mean, and Pippa will not risk ruining it. So she forces her mind back on safer tracks and says: “Well, then think of the merits of decorating for Yuletide. It does not have to be aesthetically pleasing, as long as it’s _cosy_ ,” she emphasises the last part with a squeeze to both of Hecate’s arms. Her friend is no longer trembling as badly. This is definitely helping.

“Can it at least be educational, or would that clash with your definition of cosy?” Hecate grumbles, but there is mirth in her eyes.

Pippa pretends to think it over. “Perhaps, if the decorating is done by a cosy teacher.”

Hecate snorts again. “Too bad you’re at Cackle’s, then. We prefer strict teachers with a distinct _lack of_ _imagination_.” She raises her eyebrows at the last part, and Pippa is transported straight back to a recent mistletoe incident where she dreaded Hecate’s apparent lack of imagination. Could Hecate really be referring to that? Had she even heard Pippa’s comment that night? And if so, why would she bring it up right now, in her most intimate chamber?

Before Pippa can reach any conclusion, she catches the movement of Hecate’s fingertips out of the corner of her eye. They are waving at the ceiling. Pippa turns her head and gasps. Hecate is magicing the constellations of a December sky onto her dark blue ceiling. The tiny specks of light move ever so slightly, twinkle in different hues of white, just like they would on the actual sky. It is breathtaking.

Pippa pulls herself together while simultaneously pulling the blankets and in effect Hecate a little closer. “It seems Cackle’s has at least one imaginative teacher at hand,” she says while reaching an arm across Hecate’s waist. “But if you want educational, you cannot leave out the Comet 46P. It should be visible to the naked eye this December.”

Hecate objects. “But it’s only December 10th. The comet doesn’t appear for another three days.”

Pippa wrinkles her nose and flicks her fingers just the same. The comet in question instantly appears in the Taurus constellation that Hecate already put up.

“Cheat,” Hecate grumbles, but Pippa can tell she is smiling. And then Hecate is adding more constellations. And Pippa adds planets, and then an aeroplane. They bicker about the definition of _celestial objects_ for a bit after that, but it is affectionate bickering, and Pippa’s arm, while still performing magic, is gradually sinking until she is effectively embracing Hecate from behind. They fall asleep like that, under a clear, snowless December night sky, neither of them the least bit cold.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much as fluffy as I ever get! it while it lasts ;-)


	5. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildred the matchmaker might not be entirely wrong in her perception of Pippa and Hecate's connection, but she is enough out of line that Pippa has to talk to her about it. She learns interesting things about Hecate in the process.

“I am _on to you_.” 

Clearly, Pippa has to ask Hecate for lessons on being intimidating. She has literately cornered Mildred, and in her sparkly heels she is more than a full head taller than the girl. Yet all she gets from her is a cheeky smile. “I’m very sorry, Miss Pentangle, I don’t know what you mean?” 

Pippa narrows her eyes at the child. “I am sure you _do_. The mistletoe, the biscuits, the stockings… The mirror call, which I am still grateful for by the way… And don’t think for a second I am oblivious to the fact that I am _the only_ teacher from another school who has been invited to Cackle’s winter party.”

“You’re a headmistress, not a teacher,” Mildred corrects. 

“Diversion tactics,” Pippa points out, and this time Mildred does seem to cower a little. But then she relaxes again, probably because Pippa is unable to keep the smile off her face. Scaring people is really not her strongest suit.

Mildred looks past her shoulder, and Pippa follows her gaze to Hecate who is awkwardly conversing with two sixth year students. She stands out in her black dress, but less so than she had when Pippa first got reacquainted with her. This dress is less like armour; it leaves her arms bare below the elbows and the cloth covering her neck and collarbones is light and slightly see-through. Enough that Pippa can make out the necklace she gave Hecate a lifetime ago. The attached watch has been a constant; counting, bridging the years they spent apart. Pippa knows the fact that Hecate kept it, wore it close to her body, means something profound. But even if Mildred might not be entirely wrong in her perception of Pippa and Hecate’s connection, she is enough out of line that Pippa has to talk to her about it.

It turns out to be easier than Pippa expected. Mildred, always fearless where emotions are concerned, goes straight to the point. “She’s happier. Since you became friends again.”

As if on cue, Hecate looks up, catches Pippa’s gaze, and smiles at her. It is timid, a barely there movement of lips and cheeks, but the smile reaches Pippa all the way across the room, and she knows she is grinning like a fool in response.

Mildred is right again. But that is beside the point.

“Mildred, I know you have Hecate’s best interests at heart, but she and I; we have a long and complicated history. And it’s not right to push people into… _things_.” Pippa chooses a deliberately vague label for their relationship. The mistletoe incident indicated more imagination than heteronormativity on Mildred’s part. She is certain the girl would never judge, but she is equally uncertain what there is, or ever will be, to judge.

“I’m just trying to help,” Mildred, suddenly miserable, says. “She’s had an awful year, and she doesn’t know it, but she’s my best teacher. She never goes easy on me just because I grew up without knowing anything of magic. She sets the same standards for me as for anyone else. It makes me feel as if I actually belong here,” Mildred explains, much to Pippa’s surprise. She has completely misjudged the bond between Mildred and Hecate.  

Then her mind picks up on the first part of Mildred’s speech. “An awful year... are you referring to the freeze?”

“Among other things.” Mildred seems to hesitate. Her eyes are flickering to decorations, to other students, to her own hands. “If she hasn’t already told you, then she might not want you to know,” Mildred admits.

Pippa feels a chill down her spine, even though this particular pink dress does not leave her back exposed. “Why wouldn’t she want me to know?”

Mildred ponders this for a second. “I think she’s embarrassed. Which is unfair, as none of it was her fault. The first time was my fault, even if it was an accident,” she quickly adds.

Pippa waits. She knows Mildred is right; she cannot pry out information that Hecate has not willingly given. But she also knows that Hecate is wrong; there is nothing she could share that would make Pippa think less of her.

Perhaps Mildred is weighing much the same facts in her head before she apparently comes to a decision: “I made a love potion. It was never intended for Miss Hardbroom, but she ingested some and spent an entire day chasing after Mr Rowan-Webb.”

“ _Mister_ Rowan-Webb?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Pippa blushes. It is the entirely wrong detail to get hung up on given the severity of what Mildred has just told her.

“My incantation made her fall for the first wizard she laid eyes on,” Mildred explains, then bites her lips. “Miss Bats and Mr Rowan-Webb were fighting, and they’d already spent decades apart, and I just wanted to help them…”

What Mildred describes seems eerily similar to what she is doing with Hecate and Pippa at the moment. Yet is not at all similar, because Mildred has apparently learned her lesson. “It was wrong of me. No one should ever brew love potions,” she states firmly. 

“No, they shouldn’t,” Pippa agrees with a deep frown. Her concern, or petty jealousy more like it, regarding Mr Rowan-Webb has been replaced by concern for Hecate. Love potions are essentially the magic world’s version of rape drugs. Even when nothing happens physically, they are psychologically abusive in that they entirely overrule a person’s consent. 

“The second time was not an accident, but the first years couldn’t have known what they were doing.” 

“The second time?” Pippa gapes at Mildred.

“Some first year students were really scared of Miss Hardbroom,” Mildred says, and Pippa can believe that. “So they gave her a personality changing potion. They turned her into Miss Softbroom.”

Pippa forgets to breathe for a second. The sensation running down her spine is no longer cool; it is scorching rage. How many times has she tried to imagine the powerlessness Hecate must have felt when being stripped of her magic then immobilised by ice? Apparently Hecate’s agency has been taken from her in far more personal ways. First, Hecate’s sexuality has been bent to another’s will – maybe not her sexual orientation; Pippa is still not sure what sexuality is to Hecate exactly – but certainly her sexual consent. Then, even worse, children who could not possibly fathom the harm it causes have remodelled Hecate's very identity. Personality changing potions take every bit of control away from a person, and Hecate, especially, needs to feel in control.

Mildred pulls Pippa out of her thoughts. “I like Miss Hardbroom as she is. That’s not the point though. No one should have to change who they are for other people.”

Pippa closes her eyes. She agrees with Mildred, but she is afraid Hecate might not. Since their childhood, Hecate has grown sure of herself professionally, but her social awkwardness has lingered. It is very possible that she thinks the children’s abuse of her was justified. It is very possible she thinks she should be someone else; should feel differently, speak differently, act differently.    

Pippa sighs and opens her eyes again. Mildred is watching her expectantly. “You’re worried for Hecate because she has been pushed to do things she would never do out of her own free will. Then this _thing_ …” She uses the vague label again. “How can you think it right to push her now?”

And there is that troublesome role-reversal again. Mildred’s gaze is unwavering, her head tilted as if she is much older and much more entitled than she really is. “But Miss Pentangle,” she says, “I’m not pushing Miss Hardbroom at all. I’m pushing you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much fluff today, sorry... Although Hecate smiling does count just a little, right?


	6. Snowed in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippa wants to know how Hecate is really doing. Questioning a tipsy Hecate is unethical, but also incredibly tempting.

“Time to turn in, silly old witch,” Pippa laughs. 

Their elbows are linked, and so when Hecate abruptly stops, she automatically yanks at Pippa’s arm making her nearly lose her balance.

“ _What_ did you just call me?”

Hecate is using the voice that makes Mildred tremble and other students drop to their knees, but Pippa just rolls her eyes. “We _are_ old, Hiccup. No point in denying it.”

Hecate blinks a little owlishly. It is very possible she has had one glass too many of the witches’ brew. “Not _that_. The _other_ thing.”

“What thing?” Pippa has no luck pulling at Hecate. Her friend is taller and clearly stronger than she is. She cannot physically move her unless Hecate decides to cooperate. 

“ _Silly_ ,” Hecate says sternly, but her slight swaying undermines the austere expression on her face.

Pippa laughs again, a full belly laugh this time. “Oh _that_. Well, it is an anomaly, but it’s one entirely on you for drinking yourself a bit silly tonight.” There is no blame in her observation, and she pecks Hecate on the nose just to make sure she understands this. The barely-there kiss also serves as a mild distraction allowing her to transfer the both of them to Hecate’s sitting room. Pippa does not have Hecate's flair for transferring, but it works as a last resort, she has to admit as much. 

“Oh.” Hecate takes in her own chambers as if seeing them for the first time. _Fireplace. Slightly uncomfortable sofa. A table with a chessboard, some books, and a bottle of oak aged scotch._ “Are we having a night cap?” 

“I can make us some tea?” Pippa offers. She discretely transfers the whiskey away, and fortunately Hecate seems to have already forgotten about it.

Then Hecate has a surprisingly coherent thought. “Don’t you have to get back to Pentangle’s?”

“I had to make up my mind about that hours ago when the storm picked up. By now we’re practically snowed in. I can ask Ada for a room, if you prefer, but I will have to spend the night at Cackle’s one way or the other,” Pippa says. She has made quick work of the tea and is passing a steaming mug, milk, no sugar, to Hecate. She magics Hecate’s sofa a little softer before sitting next to her friend and taking a sip of her own sweet tea. 

“No, Pipsqueak, no need for that. You can have my bed. I think I’m going to sit by the fireplace for a while anyway,” Hecate says. 

“To sober up?” Pippa teases.

Hecate ignores her, or maybe she simply did not hear. She is frowning deeply as if in deep thought. Pippa wonders exactly how drunk Hecate is. Suddenly she barely seems tipsy.

“Why did you come to the party like that?”

It is Pippa’s time to frown. “What do you mean? I received an invitation,” she says, feeling a little offended. Is Hecate saying Pippa doesn’t belong?

“Invitations generally include a plus-one.”

So it is not about the fact that Pippa showed up. It is about the fact that she showed up alone. Interesting. “Yes, it did,” she says carefully, “but I didn’t consider it mandatory.”

“There is no one you wanted to bring?”

Hecate is looking into her mug, so Pippa cannot gauge her expression. She decides to tread lightly. “From outside the school, no, not really. Would you like a refill?”

Hecate nods and looks up, but still manages to avoid actual eye contact. Pippa is unsure as to where this is going. Just like she is unsure of her friend’s level of inebriation.  

“You spent a long time with Mildred,” Hecate says, and it is the first time Pippa has heard her simply use the girl’s given name. “What were the two of you talking about?” 

Pippa hesitates. If Hecate is drunk, then this is really not the time for a serious conversation. However, if Hecate were sober she would probably flat-out refuse to have the conversation. This might be Pippa’s only chance to find out how Hecate is doing. So she takes the plunge. At least partially… best to skip the part about the love potion, she thinks to herself; to many possible complications. “We talked about you,” she says honestly, and Hecate’s eyes whip up at that. She looks very sober now. “She told me about the personality changing potion.” 

_How did you feel, Hiccup? What did you do while under its influence? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come to me?_

“She had no right,” Hecate whispers.

“No, she told me as much,” Pippa agrees. “So don’t be angry with her. Be angry with me for asking her. I just… really needed to know.”

Hecate frowns. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again as she sinks deeper into the sofa. “Ask, then,” she says, but it doesn’t feel like an open invitation. There is resignation etched onto Hecate’s face.

This is Hecate feeling powerless, Pippa realises, and she does not ever want that for her friend. She might be desperate for answers, but she will manage without them if they mean taking away Hecate’s sense of agency. She needs to make sure Hecate understands this. “You can tell me about the experience in your own time. Or not at all. If you never want to talk about it, that’s completely all right. I’d just like to know what sort of disciplinary actions were taken against the responsible students.”

This is clearly not what Hecate expected: to not be forced to talk about her private feelings. She seems equal parts confused and relieved. “Nothing happened to them,” she says lightly. 

Now it is Pippa’s turn to be confused. “They weren’t expelled then? What about detention or community work?” 

Hecate’s silence is enough of an answer.

Pippa takes a deep breath. “You know. Mildred told me tonight how much she appreciates the fact that you never make excuses for her, regardless of her background. That you hold the same high standards for all students.” Pippa wants to reach for Hecate’s hand right there on the sofa between them, but she suppresses the urge. “And even at my undisciplined _modern_ school,” she smiles slightly, but it does not seem to have any effect on Hecate, ”personality changing potions would most likely get a student expelled. I know your standards are certainly not lower than Pentangle’s when it comes to students.”

Hecate is so, so quiet. Pippa has to press on. “So the only explanation I can think of is that… that your standards are lower when it comes to _you_.”

Pippa has to blink back unbidden tears at her own words. She does not want Hecate to feel emotionally blackmailed into talking about things she would rather not talk about. So she keeps her face straight and her voice light when she drives her point home:

“Hiccup, if that potion had been given to _anyone_ but you, the responsible parties would have faced severe consequences. These are not simply the irresponsible actions of children. This is abusive behaviour. And I know for a fact, I’ve seen it when we were children, and I know it hasn’t changed; I know that you never stand by idly when someone is abused. Except when that someone is you.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like drunk Hecate. And I'm sorry to leave this on a suspenseful note, but I felt like the chapter was getting too long, so I am splitting it into two. Second half will be based on the prompt "Fireside Confessions".


	7. Fireside Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fireplace in front of them roars to life at one delicate flick of Hecate’s wrist. She is definitely sober now. And therefore it surprises Pippa all the more when Hecate decides to talk.

Pippa has deliberately left direct questions out of her speech, because she does not want Hecate to feel like she has anything to answer to. She wants her to seem worthy in her own eyes, the way she has always seemed to Pippa, but pushing her to talk is not the solution. So Pippa settles for letting Hecate know that she knows about the personality potion and that she cares. 

The fireplace in front of them roars to life at one delicate flick of Hecate’s wrist. She is definitely sober now. And therefore it surprises Pippa all the more when Hecate decides to talk. 

“I believe your observations are accurate. And as you pointed out, this is not something new. I acted much the same way at Amulet’s when your friends teased me.” Hecate magically moves the logs about and the fire settles into a comfortable slow burn.

There is no hint of sarcasm in Hecate’s voice, no cool front put up between the two of them. This might be the most intimate moment they have shared since their childhood, Pippa realises. Yet she cannot help interrupting. “They were _bullies_ , Hiccup, and they were never my friends. I would have chosen you over them any day, if-”

“If I had let you,” Hecate finishes a little wistfully. “I know that now. I didn’t back then. I thought they were right when they said I was weighing you down. I knew I would have to face a hard life, but that didn’t mean you should, too.” 

There is some meaning just beneath the words, but Pippa fails to grasp it, and she knows she has to hold her questions back. Has to give her friend as much time as she needs. It is really hard, and she is starting to regret vanishing Hecate’s whisky.

“You deserved, _deserve_ , anything you want in life, Pippa. I’m not sure what I felt I deserved back then… Mostly I didn’t want to come between you and all that you wanted.”

 _I just wanted you_ , Pippa very nearly finally verbalises, but it is both thirty years too late yet still too early, so she bites her tongue and allows Hecate to continue at her own pace.

“When our friendship dissolved, even if I knew it was for the best, I was in a dark place. I was lonely and I… I met someone,” Hecate says so quietly Pippa is not sure she heard her right. 

“They were older, had a grand professional reputation, and I suppose I was… _flattered_ ” Hecate spits the word out as one would a rotten grape, “that this person would take an interest in someone as ordinary as me.”

Pippa wants to tell Hecate she is anything but ordinary. She wants to tell her she was anything but ordinary even at seventeen; that Pippa spent years trying and failing to find anyone who even remotely measured up to the standards set by Hecate. She settles for: “I can understand that. I felt lonely, too, when we stopped being friends.”             

“At first it was acceptable, I suppose. I wasn’t proud of the relationship, per se, but it felt… _nice_ ” another rotten grape, “that one could be wanted by someone.”

Again, Pippa has the urge to object. How could Hecate be surprised by the fact that someone found her desirable? She wishes, wishes with all her might that she could go back to her awkward teen years and spill her innermost secret to Hecate. _So what_ if her feelings were not reciprocated. At least Hecate would have known she was wanted.

“It soon became apparent that they weren’t a good person. Not to me, at least. When I tried to talk to them about it, they told me I was inexperienced and didn’t know relationships are supposed to be hard. Unlike me, they had been with other people and knew better. That went on for a while. Later they took to telling me that my need to talk, my _insecurities_ , were burdensome.”

“It sounds like they were the one making you insecure,” Pippa says with a frown, “But even if you did bring insecurities into the relationship, they should have eased them, not poked at them. That’s not how loving someone works.” 

Hecate shrugs. “Maybe not. But eventually, I came to believe them. I thought it was the kind of love I deserved. I thought I was lucky to have found that one person in the world who would be willing to put up with my shortcomings. It stopped occurring to me that I could ask for the same respect I always showed them. And perhaps,” she contemplates, “perhaps that has lingered with me. Perhaps that is what you noticed.” 

Pippa has of course also noticed Hecate’s choice of pronouns, and even if she should not necessarily read into it – they might simply indicate that Hecate is a private person, which Pippa knows to be true – she feels increasingly sure that she _is_ reading Hecate correctly. In any case, she finds she no longer cares whether her need to be close is inappropriate or not. Her fingers are aching for Hecate’s. It seems like any boundary they previously had between them has already been crossed by Hecate’s unexpected openness anyway.

Pippa settles for a compromise: She inches her hand so close to Hecate’s on the sofa that she can feel their proximity, but leaves the decision to her friend. This way, they are not quite touching, but their magic is. It feels like a delightful, yet restless humming across Pippa’s open palm. Until Hecate accepts her offer and intertwines their fingers; then there is only delight.

The contrast between the heaviness of what Hecate has just lain bare and the lightness of the connection between them is striking. Hecate isn’t heavy, Pippa thinks; she is so very easy to love. What she says is: “How long were you together with them?”

“Seven years,” Hecate says.

Seven years is more than they spent together in school, Pippa realises. Enough to completely shape a person. Or take them apart. She squeezes Hecate’s hand and tries to sound as nonchalant as possible when she speaks. Not to belittle the horrors of Hecate’s past, but because she wants Hecate to know they have not fundamentally changed Pippa’s opinion of her. She is still formidable Hecate in Pippa’s eyes. “I’m sorry that had to be your first experience of a relationship. Most relationships are nothing like that.” She laughs lightly, more out of humility than self-deprecation. “Not that I’m an expert. My longest relationship barely lasted two years, but I ended all of them on amicable terms. ”

“ _You_ ended them all?” There is a tiny amused smile playing on Hecate’s lips, and Pippa wants to nurse it, to blow on it the way you do on a tiny flame until it grows strong and resistant.

“Yes, well,” she grimaces, “I may have been told, once or twice, that I have ridiculously high standards.”

“Which no wizard has been able to meet?” Hecate wonders.

Pippa laughs loudly this time, glad Hecate’s humour is back. Then she notices that Hecate is not sharing the joke. In fact, she does not seem to be in on it. “None of them were wizards, Hiccup,” she says mildly, “but you knew that.”

Hecate is staring at Pippa. Not as if she is judging her or considering withdrawing her hand. She is staring as if she has never seen Pippa before in her life. 

Pippa blinks. Suddenly everything she thought she knew Hecate knew about her has to be rewritten in her mind. Including, perhaps, the reasons behind their falling out. Maybe. “You _didn’t_ know?”

Hecate has apparently regained the ability to move and shakes her head very slowly. She is still staring.

“Oh. Well, I may not have come out and put a label on myself in our youth, but you must admit I never did anything to hide my preferences either.”

Now Hecate has also regained the ability to speak. “You knew back then?”

“I can’t remember not knowing,” Pippa replies with a shrug. “Do you recall the harvest ball in our sixth year?”

She can see the exact moment when things begin to dawn on Hecate. Her gaze is introverted, as if she is rearranging memories to create a whole new picture. “You turned down the Great Wizard’s nephew,” she says slowly.

Pippa grins. “I did, and it certainly got people talking.”

“But I thought…” Hecate is pulled back to the present. She tilts her head and looks questioningly at Pippa. “I thought they were talking because _you and I_ were close.”

“No, though that would have been worth all the talking in the world,” Pippa says, and if Hecate picks up on the barely hidden meaning there, then so be it. They have wasted enough time missing out on each other’s meanings, Pippa decides.

But Hecate has fallen silent again. She is wetting her lips, clearly on the verge of saying something, but whatever it is seems to not want to leave her mouth. 

When she finally does get the words out, it is nothing like spitting out rotten grapes. It seems more like a deep sigh of relief. “The person I was with,” Hecate says, “was Miss Broomhead.”

Pippa feels no pang of surprise. The knowledge, she realises, has been with her for years; she just never looked at it properly. “I saw you together at a winter’s party once, much like the one we were at to day,” she says quietly. “I wanted to talk to you, but I was still quite hurt, and the two of you seemed so put together. I felt awkward for not knowing how to approach you. Now I wish I had been braver. It might have changed something.”

“You did change something,” Hecate says to Pippa’s astonishment. “I was Broomhead’s plus-one that night, and I noticed you didn’t bring any. You held yourself with such ease, had such an air of authority about you. Watching you made me realise I didn’t have to be in a relationship with anyone to count. I left Broomhead soon after that.”

Pippa frowns. She is grateful, of course, for any part she might have played in getting Hecate out of an abusive relationship. But she is not completely happy with Hecate’s analysis of it. 

“Being alone is infinitely better than being with someone who mistreats you, but there should be a third option,” she finally says. She traces Hecate’s thumb with her own, studies the way their fingers fit together. “I may just be a hopeless romantic. I mean, I haven’t exactly managed to achieve this myself, but I still believe that, between the right people, lasting and loving relationships are possible.” **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly less angsty ending this time. Still have a few chapters coming - how many depends on whether I keep this fic G rated or turn up the heat. I'm not sure...


	8. Meeting the Parents and Silly Holiday Jumpers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students at Cackle's are going home for the holidays, but Mildred first drops off a present for Pippa. Or is it perhaps for Pippa and Hecate alike?

“This is for you.” 

Pippa, who is spending more time at Cackle’s than at her own school this December – she really needs to give her deputy a raise – gives Mildred a suspicious once-over. Neither the girl’s smile nor her outstretched arm fall one bit at the scrutiny, so Pippa reluctantly accepts the brown paper package from her. Hecate might not be entirely wrong in her belief that this child is incorrigible. But Mildred is also always well meaning, so Pippa does not really fear the contents of her present.

The last day of term at Cackle’s has come to an end, and the students too young to fly home in the harsh weather on their own are waiting for their families.

“Is your mother picking you up by car?” Pippa asks, and coming from her the question is a neutral one. At Cackle’s, a car might be frowned upon as a means of transportation, but at Pentangle’s several students come from non-magical backgrounds. Also, Pippa secretly wants a rose-coloured Morris Minor.

Mildred shakes her head. “Mum has to work shifts at the hospital, so I will be celebrating Christmas... Well, _Yuletide_ ,” she corrects herself, “with Maud’s family this year. Enid is coming too, what with her parents being away on tour.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Pippa cannot quite keep the wistfulness out of her voice. She remembers the one time Hecate got to spend a winter break with Pippa’s family. Hecate’s father had been abroad that year, and paradoxically his absence allowed Hecate to experience a family Yuletide for the first time in her life. Her friend had never said this out loud, but Pippa had been able to tell from the slight widening of Hecate’s eyes when they took in the Yuletide tree, the presents underneath it, the abundance of sweets. Or, really, whenever a member of Pippa’s family simply acknowledged Hecate’s existence. Maybe it is not odd at all that Hecate finds it hard to believe she is wanted, Pippa thinks to herself, and her heart breaks a little at the thought.

Fortunately, Mildred brings her back to the present. “I am really glad Enid is coming, too. She is always so good at entertaining, and I’m not sure I would be… Maud’s family are all really talented witches, and I don’t even know the Yuletide traditions yet.” Mildred is shuffling her feet. Right now, she is definitely her age, and Pippa has the seniority required to ease her worries. She has seen this insecurity at meeting a friend’s parents before; this fear of not fitting in, of coming up short. Unlike young Hecate, however, Mildred has been raised to know she is fundamentally a person of value, regardless of her flaws.

“Don’t worry. Traditions might vary, but the core is the same in Christmas and Yuletide celebrations alike: Love.” Pippa winks at Mildred. “And you are turning out to be quite the expert in that department.”

That earns her a grin, and Mildred visibly relaxes. “I do try...” Then, unexpectedly, yet unsurprisingly, she throws her arms around Pippa in what would have been a bear hug had Mildred been fully-grown. “Happy Yuletide, Miss Pentangle!” the girl exclaims from approximately bosom height.

Pippa easily returns the gesture. She wishes physical affection came this naturally to more people. “Merry Christmas, Mildred. I’m sure I’ll see you next term.” She does not realise the implications until her words have been spoken, but they feel right regardless. Pippa _knows_ that she will see Mildred in the new year, even though Mildred is not her student, but a student at Cackle’s – because Pippa _also_ intends to be at Cackle’s in the new year. As much as her Hecate – and Pentangle’s deputy – will allow her to.

Although Pippa trusts Mildred’s intention, she decides to save the present until all the students and most of the staff have left Cackle’s. She is sitting comfortably in Hecate’s sofa – Pippa considers it a personal victory that Hecate has not changed the furniture back since Pippa improved its cushions – with a mug of tea next to her and the package on her knees. There is a note attached to it, and she doubts Hecate would approve of the chicken scratch across it: 

_Sorry about the rubbish knitting, I may have rushed it a little. I do hope the spell worked out properly though. Otherwise Miss Hardbroom will put me in detention for a year. Xx Mildred_

The note confuses Pippa, but she is certainly intrigued when she unties the red string (which she has surely seen before, just outside the door to Hecate’s chambers) holding the package together. Inside are two holiday jumpers, more neatly folded than one might think Mildred capable of. One is bright pink, the other pitch black.

“What did she get you?” Hecate mumbles around a few hairpins. She has just come into the room. Her work as a teacher is done for the year, and she has washed up, changed into black jeans and a dark purple cashmere sweater. Her hair is down as well, although she is in the process of braiding it. Pippa cannot remember ever seeing her friend this casually unguarded before, at least not as an adult, and she is so taken aback by the unexpected … _softness_ of Hecate that she momentarily forgets all about Mildred’s present.

Pippa’s mouth opens and shuts. She blinks. “Pardon me?”

“The package from _Mildred Hubble_ ,” Hecate specifies, and the way she raises one sculptured eyebrow and drags out Mildred’s name is familiar to Pippa, even if her physical appearance is not. It is enough to get Pippa out of her stupor.

“Oh. Right. It’s for the both of us, actually. At least I’m pretty sure this one is intended for you.” She hands Hecate the black jumper, still folded. Then she picks up the pink one, holds it up and shakes it out in front of herself.

For the second time in few minutes, Pippa’s mouth opens and shuts without actually forming words.

Mildred has gifted them silly, home-knitted holiday jumpers decorated with silver hearts and stars. Most prominently, however, is the carol quote in big block letters embroidered across the chest: _MAKE THE YULETIDE GAY._

“I don’t quite understand this,” Hecate, hairpins now in her hair rather than her mouth, admits from somewhere to Pippa’s right.

Pippa does not dare raise her gaze. She does not want to know how Hecate, so protective of her privacy and possibly not quite on the same page as Pippa where their relationship is concerned, will react to this blunt message. She really, really does not want to know.

But she needs to know.

So Pippa looks up and finds her friend staring at the holiday jumper identical to Pippa’s, aside from its colour, as if the item makes no sense to her whatsoever.

“I am not surprised someone as silly as _Mildred Hubble_ would be into Yuletide knitting. But why in the name of the goddess has she embroidered ‘Come All Ye Faithful’ on our jumpers??”

Pippa’s mouth opens for the third time, but this time to let out a laugh so heartfelt it makes her hold her own stomach, makes her lose her balance and collapse on the sofa. It even makes a very confused Hecate join in. Hesitantly of course; most people would not even consider the slight hitch of Hecate’s breath a giggle, but Pippa is not most people.

And neither is Hecate. Too Pippa, she is quite the opposite, and her barely audible laughter is the most beautiful thing Pippa has heard in three decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No angst, just pure fluff this time! I think it's because I only have one day left at work before I myself go on holiday break.


	9. Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, Mildred the Matchmaker's scheming bears fruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay - have been busy working on my assignment for the annual Yuletide Rare Fan Fiction Exchange... But here goes, a happy ending for Hicsqueak and this fic :)
> 
> I may write some more steamy Hicsqueak later on in a sequel or a separate fic, but real-life Yule will be preventing me from writing much over the next few weeks, so I am marking this story as complete for now, which means the rating does not increase.

In the end, Mildred’s scheming bears fruit. The mistletoe, the gift-exchange, the winter party all pointed Pippa in a certain direction. The holiday jumpers gave her the final push. No, that is not exactly right; seeing Hecate laugh, laughing _with_ Hecate, gave her that push. It has made Pippa believe that the two of them have the potential to make each other happy. They already are, even if there have been and will be bumps in the road.

She still does not know where that road can lead. Hecate is wary of romantic relationships in general, and even if she is willing to try one again, she might not want to do so with Pippa specifically. Regardless, Pippa no longer thinks withholding information is the answer. It might seem safe, it might protect Pippa from rejection, but Hecate deserves Pippa’s emotional honesty. Had she been honest all along, it might have spared them thirty years of estrangement, it might have spared Hecate an abusive relationship, it might have led to an entirely different life for the both of them. Pippa does not want to waste time on what is already lost. She only dwells on their past long enough to avoid repeating past mistakes. The lesson she draws from it: She has to be brave and take the first step, because Hecate never will.

 

Once decided, acting on the decision should be easy. It is _not_. Pippa wants to find the perfect words, tries to plan them, but keeps losing her nerve. After all, she was never really a planner, certainly not where emotions are concerned. So she allows herself to wait for the right moment to present itself. However, she does set herself a deadline. She will not wait for another thirty years; she gives herself until the end of December, and that is that. If Pippa has not managed to open up before New Year’s Eve, then she will simply have to spell her feelings for Hecate out in enchanted fireworks. 

“Do you prefer batteries, fountains or traditional New Year’s Eve rockets?” Pippa asks. It is nearing sunset on Solstice eve; the longest night of the year is about to fall. 

Hecate looks up from her book on magical winter gardening, a little confused by Pippa’s non-sequitur. “I don’t know.” Her eyes leave Pippa as well as their conversation in favour of reading. Or so Pippa thinks. But then Hecate neutrally adds: “If I must play favourites with fireworks, I suppose I would have to go with black cats and lady fingers.” 

Pippa chokes on her tea and can feel her eyes bulge out as she tries to redirect liquid and air down their respective pipes. For a moment she wonders if Hecate’s puns were intended, but her friend is obviously trying and failing to hide a wide smile behind her book. Then Pippa wonders if she has been wrong about taking the first step; if Hecate has already taken steps that Pippa has been oblivious to. 

Fortunately, Hecate seems to take pity on her and changes the subject. “But New Year’s Eve is more than a week away, Pipsqueak. Let’s get Yuletide out of the way first.” 

Pippa chuckles. “You say that as if you are talking about a visit to your dentist. Are there truly no Yuletide traditions you might enjoy?” Pippa leaves out _with me_ , but makes sure this is implicit by leaning over the small table between them so her face is close to Hecate’s. 

It _seems_ Hecate’s gaze flicker to her lips, but only very briefly, so Pippa is not quite sure. Then Hecate’s eyes look elsewhere as she closes her book. “Again, if I _have_ to choose, then I suppose I don’t hate the idea of decorating a tree.” 

Pippa cannot contain her smile. She pictures Hecate putting a star on a tall pine – Hecate herself is tall after all – her sharp cheekbones reflecting a thousand tiny specks of coloured lights, but before giddiness overtakes her completely, Hecate drily adds:

“In the _old fashioned_ way. Not like a multi-coloured travelling circus.”

Pippa is not truly offended – she can see the appeal in lighting real candles on a real tree, as long as it entails Hecate’s company – but she narrows her eyes at Hecate none the less. “I feel like we went over this. Yuletide is _not_ about aesthetics, it’s about being cosy and having _fun_ , Hiccup. Remember fun?”  

Hecate snorts. “I believe the Yuletide tree tradition is about human kind’s fundamental powerlessness. An attempt at holding the bleakness of winter at bay and beckoning the sun back. Futile, of course, as nature runs her course with little regard to people’s fear of the dark.” 

Pippa folds her arm over her chest. “Surely you cannot be serious. As a potion expert you interact with and affect the course of nature all the time.”

“There is a difference between the science of magic and primitive Yuletide superstitions.” Hecate’s eyes are twinkling. She is clearly enjoying their banter, and Pippa enjoys the liveliness it brings out in her friend. 

Yet this particular argument makes her reminisce. Pippa falls silent as memories of repetition, of Yule upon Yule like pearls on a string, draw her backwards in time. Closest to the present are the Pentangle’s Yuletide balls of her 40s; a magically enlarged hall full of student chatter and all the colours of the rainbow. A bit more distant are the somewhat lonely Yuletides of her 30s; the plights of trying to run a modern witching school against all odds making it hard to find time for much else even during the winter break. Then come the Yuletides of her 20s, as ever changing as she herself was during those years; some spent in boisterous crowds, a few spent in libraries bent over books, and at least one spent mostly naked with a fellow student and the food gone cold. Then she reaches the Yuletides of her teens. They stand out, she realizes. They had a centre to them, anchoring her in ways Yuletide, traditions or not, has not done since. Hecate was that centre. Even when the two did not celebrate together – which they only ever did once – Hecate was always at the core of Pippa’s Yule. In the stories she shared with her family, in the Yuletide letters she wrote in abundance to her friend, in her heart. 

“Pipsqueak? Is everything alright?”

Pippa feels Hecate’s fingers against the back of her hand as she gently pries Pippa’s crossed arms apart. She keeps Pippa’s hand in hers afterwards. Pippa looks down in awe, not expecting this physical affection from Hecate, certainly not unprompted and with such ease. It is clear now that Hecate has indeed been taking first steps. And second and third steps. It is Pippa’s turn to be brave. “Yes, sorry, just a trip down memory lane.”

“What triggered it, if I may ask?” Hecate’s hand is holding hers gently as if Pippa’s fingers are particularly precious.

Pippa intertwines them with Hecate’s and squeezes; she wants Hecate to feel the solidity of her. “Your automatic dismissal of Yuletide superstition,” she replies, then wrinkles her nose. “I remembered something that makes me question your opinion.” 

When Hecate’s eyebrows almost reach her hairline, Pippa swats playfully at her with her free hand. 

“Enough with the scepticism! I’m trying to share something.” 

One eyebrow drops. Just one. “Share away, Pipsqueak, it is after all what you would call in the spirit of the season,” Hecate teases.

Pippa wants to tease back, but cannot think of anything to say, so she gets to her point instead: “You know of the old belief that you can use a mirror to catch a glimpse of your soul mate?”

“Of course. You have to peel an apple and light a candle in front of said mirror, but I thought that was tied to All Hallows’ Eve?”

“In most English speaking parts of the world it is. But as you know, I have Scandinavian ancestors, and in Norway the folklore is different,” Pippa explains. “On the night of the 24th of December you have to sit still in your room staring into a mirror. When the clock strikes midnight, the person you are one day going to marry will stare back at you.”

Hecate frowns. “And how exactly does this contradict my position on superstition?” 

“The Yule of our fifth year.” Pippa should probably elaborate, but she feels herself balancing precariously on a brink. One more first step and there will be no going back, she will be laying it all out there; everything she never told Hecate. It is what she decided to do, of course, but that does not take her fear away. So she simply looks her friend in the eye and hopes she will put the pieces together on her own.

“I do not recall anything remarkable about that particular Yule. I spent it with my father as per usual,” Hecate says evenly. Her eyes, however, are flickering slightly under Pippa’s gaze.

“And he was being horrible as usual. Only he did something that night. Something which made you reach your limit.” She keeps searching Hecate’s eyes and can tell exactly when the memory comes back to her friend.

Hecate blinks furiously as if trying to get sand out of her eyes. “Your Yuletide present. He… he took it. Said it was useless; a distraction from my studies. But that was not the worst of it. He called _you_ a useless distraction.” Hecate sounds more surprised than angry, as if the very thought is incomprehensible. “I think that was the first time I realised my father was in the wrong.”

Pippa holds her breath. Imagines her foot slipping from a metaphorical cliff, feels a dizziness overtake her as if she is actually falling.

“I had no means to leave.” Hecate frowns again. “All I could do was try to stay out of his way. So I said nothing. I waited quietly until I was certain he was fast asleep. Then I-” The sentence dies on her lips. It is as if Hecate simply stops; the wrinkles on her forehead even themselves out, her hand freezes in Pippa’s. 

Pippa, on the other hand, keeps falling. “Then you mirrored me at midnight,” she finishes. “I was waiting in my room, waiting for a glimpse of this person whom I was destined to spend my life with.” She laughs a little at her naivety at fifteen, but it sounds forced to her own ears. “It was meant as a silly game. I was as sceptical as you are and never expected it to work. Until you proved me wrong.”

She squeezes Hecate’s passive hand and prays that when this fall breaks, it will not break her. Unlike at seventeen, she now knows that she would survive, but she also knows how much it would hurt.

For now, however, Pippa is still falling; still suspended in mid-air. “It couldn’t be superstition. Because seeing your face I knew, I _knew_ even back then, that the mirror was _right_.” She can see the hard ground now, closing in on her, as she drives her point home: “For me, that has never changed.” And there it is. All of Pippa laid bare. The conclusion is up to her friend. 

Hecate’s left hand remains limp in Pippa’s right, but Pippa catches movement out of the corner of her eye: Hecate’s other hand. It sweeps in. It curls itself around their already intertwined fingers, catching not just Pippa, but the both of them, so neither of them breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the ride. Happy Yuletide everybody!

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide everybody!


End file.
